


and i'll be your rabbit in your headlights

by poludeuces



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/strange fake
Genre: M/M, a sex scene but it's really just a set up, dumas just say your feelings please, heyo this is angst, one sided pining, slight fsf vol 5 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces
Summary: There are no words necessary. His eyes tell him everything he needs to know.Dumas and Dantes have been doing this for a while now.Just mainly Dumas thinking too much really after sex.





	and i'll be your rabbit in your headlights

**Author's Note:**

> heyo, some content warnings before we begin:
> 
> \- yeah this has some sex in it, but it's angst first and foremost so don't expect much hot stuff  
\- brief spoilers to fate/strange fake volume 5 spoilers, in particular to the scene where they interact, and dumas' np  
\- fic suggests dantes/haydee like fate does

There are no words necessary. His eyes tell him everything he needs to know.

It started as all terrible things do, in a drunken stupor, with Dantes dragging Dumas’ body up to his room after a long night of testing to see who could last longer. It is with his high resistance that Dantes wins, yet his mind is still cloudy and that is what he says is the reason he agrees when Dumas asks if he wants to come inside.

It continues every so often. When they come back from a long trip to find a grail, or during an annoying event. When Dumas has drunk too much and ends up calling Dantes up to help him. When they’re both bored out of their minds as they wait for the next big event. When their own frustrations at seeing Ritsuka in pain becomes too much to bear, and they need an outlet to get it out of their minds.

There is too much happening in the little outpost. There is very little hope to pass around.

Dumas finds Dantes staring up at him. He’s spent most of the day holed up in the library, entranced by a little book on influences of the crusades on fiction. He can almost feel the animosity that drips from Dantes’ eyes as he finally looks up to see the man studying him from behind a bookcase.

There are no words necessary. Dumas just gets up and closes his book, carefully placing it on a table so he could find it later.

They’re often seen together so they do not worry as people see them walk to the rooms. Night has slowly crawled in. From the cuts on his cheek and the mana bubbling underneath the skin, Dumas knows that the avenger has been spending the day farming.

He’s almost amazed by how much energy he has left because of it. But Dumas knows first hand how much endurance Dantes has when he’s angry.

“Your room,” is all Dantes says and Dumas sighs. 

Ever since they first spoke, all the way back to those days in Paris, he had never been the chatty type. Dumas was well aware of the lack of pillow talk.

Both of them know the deal. There’s no need for any fluffing. As the door closes, clothes fly, mouths crash against each other and furniture is knocked over. There’s no time to be careful about this. 

It’s just a craving that will pass.

There’s a frustration behind his thrusts that Dumas relishes. He grips onto the sheets and rolls his head back as Dantes pistons further inside and faster. The darkness makes Dantes’ eyes glow as it studies the man underneath him. Dumas likes to believe that he’s enjoying this, that he’s drowning in the same pleasure that Dumas is in. 

The name that drops from Dantes’ lips as he fills him up reminds Dumas of the truth.

“Haydee,” he mumbles against Dumas’ neck and the caster ignores it.

Of course, it is difficult not to compare himself to her. But he has seen her in all of her splendor, a brief meeting. He has written about her. He has likely made her even more perfect in his interpretation.

He always wonders how much of the man that fucks him is the real man he fell in love with at first sight that night, covered in the blood of his enemies and eyes wild with revenge, or if he is more the man he tried to capture in his novels.

In comparison to the perfection he has written, what is he? He is no hero—simply the one who creates them.

He can’t even create them—he just makes improvements.

Here, above him, slowly drawing himself out of the other, stands a true hero. A manly beauty with citrine eyes that burned deep into him. So much stronger than he, one did not have to look at their rarities to know that fact. Despite everything, he was still buzzing with energy while Dumas seemed to slink into the pillows, admiring the man.

Upon seeing him for the first time and learning of his revenge plot, he did not recognize that his curiosity was indeed love. It wasn’t until he had started penning the story that he realized what he was doing, until he was finding silly excuses to try and find out more about the mysterious man he had found bloody and bruised by a church, a demon with white, swirling hair and a mission delivered to him by God.

And by the time he did, it was too late. His story was done. He was leaving France.

All Dumas could do was immortalize it.

He wonders if Dantes despises him for recording his trials. He likely would have not become a servant if not for him.

Yet in the same vein, Dumas likely would have not become a servant without the success of Dantes’ story. 

Dantes sits down next to him and summons a cigarette and draws a long breath. If Dumas was not so tired, he would have maybe made a joke about smoking after sex, but instead takes this time to study the body littered with scars.

How many of the scars were original, and how many were new additions based off of his novel? 

Dantes looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Do you want one?” he asks.

Dumas sighs and shakes his head, instead opening up his side drawer and pulling out a cigar. They sit there smoking with no words. His body itches, he wishes to do nothing but ask the questions that haunt him.

But he does not want to ruin this. He does not want Dantes to pull away in any form.

Even if it is just this for right now. 

Right now, he needs him in some aspect. There is no reason for him to change this as it stands. Dantes had almost killed him upon his summoning. He had made patient and good work so that their relationship was whatever this was now. He could not stand to unravel that.

He is not sure why he has such a fascination with this one man in particular. He is no stranger to one-night stands—he had even tried with some of the other servants at Chaldea. He bolstered that he preferred the company of women over men, so why? What was it about this one man? Was he his muse or his creation? Perhaps if he was his patron, he could be like Horace and write long poems about his love without shame. Perhaps if the lines were not so blurry, he could find himself to confess what he truly desired from the avenger, for his name to be on the other’s lips and not another’s.

“Dumas,” Dantes says and cuts Dumas’ train of thought off. 

“Yes, Edmond Dantes?” he responds. Dantes knows how much he loves the name—he had told them how much he would love to see it in print when they first spoke—and Dumas wonders if he too likes hearing him say his name. He hopes so, it’s basically the only thing he says when they’re in bed.

“I’ve been wondering,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, “About your noble phantasm. It can return people to some of your memories, yes?”

Dumas’ eyes widen and he nods furiously. Yes, he could transport people into his memories for a brief moment. It was not something he had full control over, of course, but it had provided to be useful back in Snowfield. It made the affected feel like a ghost, unable to react with one’s surroundings, but nevertheless—the memory could be seen. 

“Yes, I can do that,” Dumas answers. 

Dantes smiles and looks down at his lap.

Dumas’ mind jumps from possibility to possibility. Did he wish to review their first meeting? When they ate dinner together for the first time? Perhaps their last meeting in real life? Something more recent, maybe? When Dumas was first summoned? Or their first-time fucking? There was a myriad of possible shared memories and Dumas’ body shook at what this could mean, what Dantes would choose.

“If I recall correctly….” He is choosing his words carefully. “If I recall correctly, you met Haydee, ever so briefly—"

Ah.

Dumas smiles and nods, “Yes, briefly.” He drops his cigar into an ashtray and tries his best not to destroy it in his palm. Frustration bubbles close to the surface, but he cannot demonstrate any of this to Dantes.

He cannot ruin this. This is another thing that perhaps Dantes will grow to ask for, perhaps often. Maybe it will lead to Dumas learning more about his muse, his creation.

He holds out his palm and waits for Dantes to take it. “Yes, let us return to that scene, why don’t we.”

**Author's Note:**

> HI this just came to me like randomly while listening to "those nights" by bastille, which the name comes from  
fate strange fake vol 5 huh.. it's a gift that keeps on giving. eddumas is so much better now.   
anyways i love these two a lot please love them  
thank you so much for reading!!   
the horace reference is 100% due to the fact that horace references him so much in his writings  
twitter is @musketeermasque and tumblr is @musketeersmasquerade


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